


But You Knew From the Start It Was Us, Didn’t You?

by Useless_Fluffball



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: "Hmm I had no idea how much I used this appendage in my day-to-day existence until I wrecked it!", Angst, Fluff and Angst, He keeps the limb don't worry, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, I'm not sorry, I'm so sorry, Jester for best cleric, Literally just shameless whump, M/M, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, No permanent trauma, No seriously this time, Poor Molly, Tail Injury, Tails, That is a lie, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, We're gonna pretend episode 26 never phckin happened, Whump, she's trying her best.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless_Fluffball/pseuds/Useless_Fluffball
Summary: Hells, above all else, Molly isexhausted.He’s exhausted, and everything hurts, and he’s having serious difficulty keeping his eyes open - were it not for the fact that toppling over backwards apparently now comes with an inevitable side of excruciating pain, it would’ve been the immediate and gratifying course of action.“Fuck.”He intones, with feeling.In other words, this is purely self-indulgent whump.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 16
Kudos: 117





	1. Crunch Goes the Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Have some pain! That's all this is.  
> It's not very graphic pain, not exactly what seasoned masochists would refer to as _The Good Stuff,_ but it's something and they say it's good to write out your innermost turmoil, so here you go, you terrible agony vultures.
> 
> Expect minimal plot and terrible update scheduling. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, thank you very much CodeSculptor1 and Cuddle God for the beta, you guys are wonderful.

Something grabs him.

Something grabs at him, at an area he considers _really quite personal, in fact,_ but alas, before he has the chance to tell them as much in not so many words and considerably more stabbing, _crack_ ** _._**

Crack, and then...

Nothing.

Nothing whatsoever but a vague notion of “what the fuck” for a full, _blissful_ second, and then suddenly Molly’s face is in the mud and his spine is on fire. It’s whiplash, and it’s all the way from the juncture where his tail meets his ass to a good halfway down, where he realises with a horrified start the numbness begins. 

He senses more than hears the brute bearing down from behind, and tries to put all of his considerable inner turmoil into a few spat sentences he wields like blades. Something roughly translating to, **_“FUCKING SHITTING OW, YOU BLOODY FAT PIECE OF FUCK,”_** leaves his lips and - thank the fucking _goddess_ \- hits its mark, and as much as the familiar trickle of heat down his shoulder is frustrating (the sacrifice of yet another innocent shirt weighing _heavily_ on his conscience), Molly heaves a sigh of relief as his assailant’s vision clouds over black.

A bolt whizzes past at ear height - funny, considering he’s crumpled in the dirt - striking his bemused opponent squarely between the legs, and Molly just barely has time to roll away before the barbarian joins him on the ground with a satisfying sort of gurgle-scream.

He _would_ be sympathetic for the fella - he really would - but he’s a little preoccupied at the minute with the fact that his _elegant_ evasive manoeuvre seems to have left him entirely paralysed, incapable or maybe just subconsciously unwilling to shift another inch lest he jostle the white-hot bundle of **_ow_ ** _that’s apparently his lower everything now, lucky_ **_fucking_ ** _him-_

Deep breaths, Molly. Deep breaths. 

Willing his limbs to cooperate, he seizes the base of the appendage with one hand and pushes himself gingerly upright with the other. He’s so _incredibly_ glad he’d thought to clench his teeth _beforehand_ , because he has absolutely no doubt whatsoever that his already-split tongue would be paying a hefty price had he not.

Past the roaring white noise in his ears, he registers Beauregard’s tired whoop and the general sounds of victorious slumping. To his left, Nott is giving Caleb his routine pat down, and somewhere to the right of that Jester has begun looting a fallen bandit. Fjord is grinning, and Molly glances about for Yasha only to remember with a sharp pang her departure that early morn, because...

...Because of _course_.

And hells, above all else, Molly is _exhausted._

He’s exhausted, and everything hurts, and he’s having serious difficulty keeping his eyes open - were it not for the fact that toppling over backwards apparently now comes with the inevitable side of _excruciating pain_ , it would’ve been the immediate and gratifying course of action. 

“Fuck.” He intones, with feeling.

 _“Nobody’d better be bleeding out all over the floor, because I have like… One whole spell left, you guys!” -_ Jester, nose-deep in a thug’s haversack.

Fjord’s response is a slightly pained grunt, accompanied by a strained “Yeah, yeah I think we’re good.”

Molly turns his head in hyper-slow-motion to take in his teammate’s appearance. Through the world’s gentle swirling, it’s just possible to make out the outlines of his friends, and yep, sure enough, after a good few seconds Fjord’s wonderful figure is visible. He’s favouring his right leg, and there’s blood soaking his sleeve, but he’s upright and leaning on Beau. 

Nevertheless, Molly’s brows furrow, concerned. 

So do Jester’s, once her blue head has popped up again, and Molly huffs out a laugh at the expression on her face. He then resolves to not repeat the motion for the foreseeable future, when every single nerve in his body promptly lights up in angry chorus.

Blinking past the spots in his vision, he watches the smaller tiefling make her way across the clearing, hands on hips and tail lashing irritably.  
  
“You are _so stupid._ ” She tells their warlock, unheeding of Beau’s sympathetic sniggers in the background.

One bright blue hand shoots out to grip Fjord’s bicep before he can object, and she twists the limb out towards her. He yelps, but doesn’t bother to struggle, far too used to it all by now, and despite the rough treatment, a faint groan of relief escapes him as the familiar glow takes hold. 

To the right of the pair, Beau leans down to prod at a thug’s unmoving leg.

“These fuckers don’t really have much to take, honestly.” She toes at a rusty helmet, disdainful.

Releasing Fjord, Jester makes an about turn to wiggle her fingers in the monk’s face, three new rings glinting prettily in the light. 

“I mean, I don’t know… They _did_ have some pretty cool shinies!” She chirps. “Nott, Molly, come see!”

It takes him a second to realise he’s being spoken to, despite the fact he’s staring right at her, which… _Does_ probably speak volumes in itself, really, but once he's clued in, blinking a little and trying his damndest to smile reassuringly, he gives a stilted nod. 

Odd how you only notice something once it’s gone, Molly thinks to himself, not for the first time in his relatively short couple of years.

He’s never really paid much attention to the subconscious wiggles of his tail before now, but without them he’s oddly bereft, and the abrupt knowledge that the tip would’ve been flicking along with the nod, were it still working, is painfully new.

Also new and painful are the little bolts of lightning sent scraping down his back at the motion, and _huh,_ he’d never have guessed nodding took that much effort.

“Molly?”

When’d Jester get so close? 

“Hey Molly, are you concussed?” Someone grabs his chin and tilts it up harshly, and he’s powerless to catch his little yelp of pain.

Blinking through watering eyes he registers Jester’s violet gaze scowling down at him. She looks like she’s about to thoroughly chew someone out. 

Molly would sure hate to be that guy. 

“Where are you hurt.” It’s a statement, not a question, but he suspects she wants an answer nonetheless.

His vocal chords don’t want to cooperate, and for a panicky second he’s thrown back to his first few months of consciousness. 

“T…” _Fuck!_ “Tail.”

Faintly, he registers his teammate’s eyes shooting wide, and she lets go of his face as though burnt. Molly stays very, very still.

“Ah, shit. Shitting shitty shitfuck.” Jester turns slightly to call over her shoulder, keeping her gaze firmly on him. “Hey Caleb?”

The response is immediate as the human glances up from his companion, just visible from the corner of Molly’s eye.  
  
 _“Ja?”_

“I was just wondering if…” Jester looks like she wants to reach out and touch, but doesn’t quite dare to, “I was just wondering if _maaaybe_ you still had that healing potion on you?” 

Something in her voice must betray her urgency, because Molly blinks and suddenly the group’s huddled round, looming over them both in a way that really _shouldn’t_ be as comforting as it is.  
 _“-ave it to Nott-”_ Through the whitenoise, his friends’ voices fade in and out. _“-had a slice in her ribs, I’m very sorry-”_ Caleb is apologizing. Molly should probably know why, but he’s a little busy trying to suppress his shivering. It’s so _cold,_ and even the _slightest twitch_ is agony, and pain tolerance be damned, Molly wants to cry.

“-olly, hey! Hey Molly!” Someone’s hands are on his cheeks, ever-so-gentle so as not to jostle him too much, and if he could focus he’s sure he’d be impressed at the foresight. 

Two pairs of bright blue eyes stare him down. 

Molly blinks. 

Beau’s holding his face, and the tenderness of the gesture is… jarring, to say the least, coming from her. For the first time since he first went down Molly feels a curl of anxiety lick at the pit of his stomach.

“Hey!” Beau is saying, and despite the softness of her touch her eyes are solid steel. “Look at me, dumbass. Stay. Here.”

He wants to laugh. Does he look like he’s going anywhere?  
  
He’d articulate as such, but his silver tongue is uncooperative. 

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me!”  
  
She knows him so well.

There’s a gasp from behind him, but he doesn’t turn. Judging by the wounded noise that follows, Jester is inspecting the injury.

“Oh Molly, oh no, oh _shit-”_

Beau’s hands are warm, and he leans into the touch. He might’ve made a sound, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. 

“I’m going to- Oh no.” Jester steps around him again, into his field of vision. “I’m going to touch it, okay? _I’m really really sorry,_ I just have to see how it’s broken, exactly.”  
  
The tail end of the sentence is almost lost on Molly, as ‘I’m going to touch it’ rings in his ears. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, which Jester rightfully interprets as agreement, so he hears rather than sees her disappear behind him again.

A hand grips his shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth, and he can feel Beau’s fingers tense against his cheeks. When the pain comes, it’s more intense than he’d anticipated, and his eyes fly open at once, a sharp Infernal-laced hiss lashing out from between his teeth as the world goes blissfully blank.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blrgh, it's 3 am and I lack the foresight to write ahead, so here you go, format errors and all. 
> 
> No beta, long may I reign.

By the time he comes to, he’s on his side again, head in someone’s lap. The scent of sweat, dirt and ozone clues him into the fact that it’s Caleb’s before he’s fully conscious. 

There are fingers in his hair, scritching absently around the base of one horn, and the voices surrounding him are raised in heated discussion. Beau sounds angry, Fjord and Nott sound worried, and Jester just plain miserable. Thankfully, the pain seems to have faded to a dull throb, pulsing up his spine in time with the heartbeat thumping loud and slow in his ears.

“Schatz,” The tone’s quiet, soothing. “Kannst du deine Augen für mich öffnen?” 

Molly blinks, drowsy as all hell.

The hand in his hair has stilled, and Caleb looks a little off-kilter, but he offers a shaky smile nonetheless that Molly doesn’t think he _quite_ succeeds in returning.

 _“Dankeschön.”_ It’s easy enough to figure out the term from the tone of voice, and almost imperceptibly, Caleb shifts.

Molly’s about to try for a witty retort, but his vision is promptly filled with blue and pink. Jester’s crouched in the mud, wiggling her fingers in front of his face with a grin. 

“Hey there sleepyhead, I’m just gonna…” She fidgets a bit, before setting a little satchel by her feet. His eyes flicker down to it, and Jester - adept as she is at reading the direction at his gaze from the movement of his lashes alone - is quick to explain.

“It’s not much. I got some healing salve from that nice lady at the market, I don’t think you were there, but…” Trailing off, she bites her lip. “It’s… It’s _really_ not much, but… but it should make the pain go away, at least! Just a little bit.”

Nodding feels like a bad idea, so he settles for a slow blink, instead. His ears flick where they lie almost flat against his scalp, and Jester nods, encouraged. 

“Okay. Okay, hold still, this is prooobably gonna hurt-” Go figure.

She shuffles behind him on hands and knees, instinctively reaching for the bag with her own tail as she goes. Molly’s lips tick down at the corners. 

There’s the sound of a cork popping from a vial, which Molly presumes is the salve, and a little tearing noise he barely registers- he’s too busy focusing on the way Caleb’s fingers card through his hair. 

It’s nice, if a little oversensitive, and he uses the feeling as an anchor once Jester begins her work. A cool swipe of cloth, and then a gentle touch tracing a line from where the sensation tapers, up up up, over the worst of it where Molly grits his teeth, and then stopping just before it gets awkward. 

Despite himself, Molly whimpers, a natural reaction to the touch, and Jester shushes him, free hand rubbing apologetically at his ankle. The stroke begins again, more confidently now, and unpleasantly slimy too, though he has to admit the coolness is nice against the throbbing pain. 

He’s not sure how many minutes pass, but Caleb’s fingers are sure and careful and Jester’s touch efficient. It’s almost unnoticeable when the pain starts to numb.

Before he knows it, slimy fingers are on his face, and he scrunches his nose in protest. Jester laughs, and calls out to the rest of the group. 

“Is anyone else hurting, because there’s some of this paste left and I don’t want it to go to waste.”  
  
Beau steps forward, Molly thinks, and Caleb taps gently at his horn. “Hey, schatz, the sooner we get moving the sooner we can find you a proper healer, ja?”

_“HEY!”_

Caleb chuckles. “No offense, Jester.”

To his surprise, Molly finds he can laugh without passing out. The pain’s dulled to the point of being almost imperceptible, and he pulls his arms to his chest.

The movement elicits a start from Caleb who frets slightly, clearly not knowing to what to do with his hands, but Molly’s determined, and he manages to roll over onto his belly. From there, he succeeds in rising first to his knees, and then to his feet, which is... Roundabout where his luck runs dry. 

Something’s off, a feeling similar to being drunk only without the pleasant haze of hilarity and general wooziness to dull the confusion. Molly puts his hands out to steady himself, frowning slightly as he sways. 

“Need a hand there, buddy?” Fjord sounds amused, if a little concerned, and Molly grins in what he _hopes_ is a reassuring manner. 

“No no, no worries, I've got this.” He holds the other’s stare until he receives a sceptical nod, before returning his attention to staying upright. Steeling himself, he breathes deeply and takes a step forward. 

The world tilts.

Jester cries out in warning, just a little too late as Molly’s already staggering off-kilter. He’s pretty sure Fjord’s trying (failing) to steady him, smacked in the face by one or another of Molly’s flailing limbs, and he makes it a good few feet to the left before wheeling back around. His wide eyed stare meets Caleb’s for a second, Caleb who’s got both arms outstretched rather pointlessly - oh, hello, said arms turn out to be _considerably_ closer than expected _-_ and Molly falls forward. 

They meet the damp ground with a splat, and distantly he hears someone exclaim, but pretty much all he can see is dirty white, though the fabric he finds his face smooshed into is surprisingly soft. He blinks, pulls back a little, looks up into Caleb’s stunningly bright red face. 

The colour clashes with his hair, and makes his eyes sparkle rather beautifully, Molly thinks. 

He’s sputtering, which is adorable, and Jester is clearly trying not to laugh with mixed success as she grabs Molly by the armpits and hauls him off. He doesn’t think he could get any grubbier if he tried at this point; the weather’s been anything but calm over the past few weeks, only increasing in violence the further south they get, and poor Caleb is on his back in the mud, bright hair filthier than usual and splayed across the ground between tufts of grass.

Suffice to say, they’re a little past the point where a basin and a washcloth would suffice.

“Yaknow,” says Beau, matter-of-factly, “I think we could use a bath.”

For some reason this sets him off, and it's like a dam breaking. Nott’s run straight to Caleb, grinning despite herself, and even Caleb has found it in him to chuckle, traumatised expression aside.

With a groan and a considerable amount of assistance from Jester, Molly pushes himself up so that he’s kneeling in the mud once again, and takes the damn hand Fjord’s still offering.

“Thanks, darling- Sorry about that.” The latter half of the statement is directed towards Caleb, who’s looking a tad lost on how to proceed. 

Fjord hoists him upright, arm shaking, wincing as he raises the other to rub at the back of his neck. His hold is a little tenuous, and though the bleeding’s stopped he looks dead on his feet. 

“Nope, nah, it’s alright, should’ve checked in with everyone else before letting Jester heal me. This is my fault, don’t fret.” 

The unimpressed gaze he levels on his teammate is nothing in comparison to the onslaught of scolding he gets from Jester, who descends at once like a fucking darkmantle onto its prey. 

Allowing himself another chuckle, Molly glances round, only to make eye contact with their wizard who’s paused with his hand outstretched as if to tap him on the shoulder. 

He grins. “Yes, Mr Caleb? Something I can do for you?”

Predictably Caleb blushes, but soldiers on nevertheless. “Ehm… _Ja-_ yes, actually, I was going to ask if um…” He gestures to Molly and Fjord, the way that they’re propped precariously against one another, and back to his own arm.

“If you wanted to… Then Jester could… And I am very dirty already, so there is really no need for you to...” The gesticulation continues, and Molly smiles, delighted. 

“Why Mr Caleb, you _gentleman_ you!” If possible, the flush deepens, but before gets the chance to retract the offer Molly’s turned to the other tiefling.

“Jester dear, d’ya think you could spare an arm for our lovely warlock? Only Caleb’s offered very kindly to walk me back, and I’m not entirely certain he’s prepared for all _this._ ” At ‘this’ he slaps a casual palm onto said warlock’s shoulder, tossing him a wink for good measure. 

Fjord smiles sheepishly, about to reply, but Jester’s grin is shark-like, tail flicking behind her.

“Why yes, of course Molly!” She takes a sputtering Fjord, leaving Molly to grab hold of Caleb’s sleeve for dear life, and as much as he hopes it comes off casual, after their rendezvous in the bog he’s not so sure.

“Well!” Beau exclaims, eyeing the pairs with no _small_ amount of suspicion, “We’d better, uhh…”  
  
“Yep!” Nott’s giving Caleb a Look, that coming from her could mean anything from ‘There’s something on your face and it’s wriggling’ to ‘My ass is on fire.’

The two of them, human and goblin, nod decisively to one another before turning with dedication towards the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Rabentochter for the German, I appreciate sounding less like a caveman!

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't actually posted anything since my .net phase way back when.  
> I'd say don't hurt my feelings, but after this I might deserve it.


End file.
